I had just sat down with a cocktail and a book when Cutter stumbles up to me yelping and panting.
Get her off, he says, and half-turns, yelping at little Lola.
I shift slightly and lean slightly so I can see around Cutter and I see Lola latched onto one of his rear legs.
Grrrrrr, says Lola, shaking her head back and forth, trying to pull Cutter’s leg backwards towards her.
NO!, I yell, jumping up and knocking over my drink and clapping my hands together to get her attention. (Actually it used to be LOLA NO! until our prissy little vet told us we should never include our pet’s name in a reprimand, but only when we call her to come or when we are praising her because it confuses the pet and makes her anxious. Anxious? Really?)
Fuck, I say, scooping up my glass with one hand and reaching for Lola with the other.
Arf!, says Lola, happily letting go of Cutter’s leg and latching onto my finger instead.
NO!, I yell again. (This is pretty much how it’s been going nowadays. From the time we get up in the morning, getting ready for work and walks and feedings; and then again in the evenings until Lola grudgingly and exhaustedly falls asleep, it’s been a fairly constant fusillade of NO!!- Except when we slip or when we’re really angry and then it’s LOLA NO!!! again and screw anxious)
Freed, Cutter clambers up onto the couch to escape Lola and I clean up my spilled drink and make another. I had just sat back down to relax and read when one of my brand new $89 flip flops rockets across the living room, Lola’s stumpy little legs pumping furiously.
LOLA NO!!!!! I scream as I leap up and give chase, knocking over my drink again.
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